thanksgiving

So quiet this morning; reluctant to breathe.

The Remnant have a saying: Time stops. What that means.

Heavy wet snow yesterday, all day long and then through the night; still drifting down in this morning's dark. But now, at first light, stopped. The only sound (except noisy crows, at some distance) is the slow drip from the sodden eaves; then a wind sneaks in, and our hemlock sighs like the cat going back to sleep.

What is it we feel, moments like this? no need pulling at us: pick up this, put it next to that, make a difference somehow, for some reason or other?

Thanksgiving.

There. Snowing again.